


Dodging Bullets With Your Broken Past

by agentx13 (rebelle_elle)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi, m/m/f, sharon carter appreciation month, soulmarks AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6165649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier returns from a mission with another soulmark. Steve comes out of the ice to find that one of his two soulmarks is faded, but he has a third that was never there before. Sharon was born with the worst soulmarks in history.</p><p>No one said being soulmates would be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The mark appeared no matter how many times they stripped away his flesh or burned him with chemicals, no matter how scarred his skin became. They would stare at it, deliberate, question him about things he did not know, could not remember, could not differentiate from imagination or dreams or nightmares. Sometimes he thought he saw a skinny blonde man in the back of his mind, a foggy remnant of what might have been in a life he couldn’t recall, but he could never be certain, never make out the man’s features. In quieter moments, when he was alone and free to try to remember without prodding questions, he could feel a warmth he couldn’t name. But he knew it had something to do with the skinny man and the words that never left him.

And then another mark appeared. Reagan was president. He was on a mission in another city that he only dimly remembered, one with spires that touched the clouds. He returned to base, and his doctors found the mark while debriefing him.

“Now we must keep him away from two people,” one of them said.

“Don’t know who the second is,” another pointed out.

“Muzzle him when he’s out of cryo. Make sure he can’t speak.”

They froze him again, the ice burning into his bones.

* * *

The cold had long ceased to bother him. No, what bothered Steve was how much he had missed, waking up to a lie, finding that he had saved the future but lost years of his present.

Falling asleep had been so peaceful. Waking up and wrapping his mind around all that passed had been a nightmare.

SHIELD debriefed him. They said nothing about Peggy’s almost-invisible scrawl on his right bicep, Bucky’s deep scrawl leaving a trail on his left thigh like knife blades. Steve could feel it there, each letter heavy despite his death decades ago, and he wondered why Peggy’s was different.

“We don’t have a record of this one,” one of the doctors said, poking at Steve’s foot. 

He looked down to see tidy, unfamiliar text wrapped around his ankle and trailing down the top of his foot. 

“‘Tell me everything you know about the Winter Soldier,'” the doctor read. He raised his head. “Any idea what this means, sir?”

Fury crossed his arms in the doorway. “Means he’s wearing shoes when he goes on missions.”

* * *

He was careful after that. He never knew how closely they monitored him. It was several missions before he was alone in a darkened office with a dead man across the street. He measured the odds of surveillance and risked a look at the second mark, a light and permanent scrawl on his right calf. He glanced at it, committing it to memory as something inside him felt inexplicably warm. “I’m so fucking sick of this shit.”

He looked away quickly, not wanting to get caught studying the mark when they might be watching. The other mark, seared into his shoulder and his memory, read, “I had him on the ropes.” The softness it conjured felt almost foreign, but he understood that it had nothing to do with Hydra. It made him feel better than anything Hydra had ever done to him.

Sometimes he took off his muzzle when he wasn’t supposed to.

* * *

Sharon Carter had the worst soul marks an agent could have. They weren’t great marks for anyone, if she were being honest, but particularly not for an agent. For one, she had two, which was rare, for another, one was along the top of her breast, which had led to some unfortunate encounters on the beach, and for yet another, the phrases were trite. “Hey, neighbor,” the one that got her in trouble whenever she wore low-cut tops, was far too common. She’d first heard it in grade school, and it hadn’t taken long for her to realize that Brian Mosler in the seat beside her was _not_ her soulmate. Nor were several others who said the words; most of them were downright assholes. The other mark, “Hands up,” ran in a heavy line along her spine. The words were certainly more interesting, but it meant she was soulmates with either a mugger or some other low-level criminal, or, worse, she was going to fall for an enemy in the field.

She always knew when her superior officers read the part about her marks in her file. She wasn’t the only one who thought her marks indicated that she would fall for some sort of enemy. More than a few of them tried to talk her out of field work. After one particularly messy fight, Director Fury himself called her to his office. 

“You know this can compromise you, Carter!” he snapped as the conversation escalated. Stubbornness had always been a Carter family trait, and they were never more stubborn than when they were challenged.

“Then I’ll kill them before they get a chance to talk, sir!” she snapped back. “Or you could send me someplace where they don’t speak English.”

He glared at her. “You know how likely it is that you’re gonna meet your soulmate sometime in your lifetime, right?”

She nodded. “Why I plan to shoot first, sir.”

“Marks hurt when they disappear, Carter.”

“I’m a SHIELD agent, sir. The mission is all that counts.”

He sank into his chair and watched her over steepled fingers, a wolfish grin tugging at his lips. “Okay. I’ve got a mission for you. How’s your Portuguese?”

* * *

Peggy had moved on. His mark was as faded on her skin has hers was on his. She had accepted that he wouldn’t return and had gone on to have a family.

He tried not to let that hurt. He was happy for her; he was. Her happiness was more important to him than his own could ever be. He talked with her for almost an hour, until she started to repeat the conversation, and then promised to return next week.

He sat in his apartment at SHIELD and read everything he could get his hands on about soulmarks. The ones that appeared later in life, which were rare, and the ones that stayed after someone died, which were also rare. Most people had marks that disappeared when their soulmate died, leaving white scars in their place. 

People hadn’t discovered much about the marks since Steve had gone into the ice. He felt just as blind as he had before. All he could guess was that he and Peggy had been soulmates once, but he had ruined his chance of being happy with her when he’d plunged the Skull’s plane into the ice. It was enough to make him hate his decision on the Valkyrie. He forced himself to remember all the people who would have died if he’d been more selfish. Surely his sacrifice was worth their lives. Right?

He studied the mark on his foot when he was alone in bed, wondering who spoke those words. He avoided looking at Bucky’s mark as much as possible. 

Who the hell was the Winter Soldier?

* * *

The muzzle of her gun was still hot as she rolled into the hotel room through the window, and she spun around and wrenched the curtains closed behind her, dropping her gun to still the curtains at the bottom. The mission, she reflected darkly as she panted, had not gone well. They had been ready for her. Maybe not her, specifically, but they had known someone from SHIELD would be there. They’d had someone pursue her, too. Someone good. As the minutes ticked by, though, she started to think she might have actually lost him.

A quiet voice came from the other side of the room, too far away for her to punch or kick. “Hands up.”

She sighed and dropped her head. That line again. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with a potential soulmate, nor did she have the time. “I’m so fucking sick of this shit.” She spun on her knees, picking up her gun in the process and aiming it at him as she crouched.

He stared at her, his mouth hanging open. He lowered his gun.

She glared at him. Shit. _Shit._ So this was her soulmate? Some asshole with long hair, and a steampunk leather fetish?

He raised his gun again. “You shoot me, I shoot you.”

She believed him.

“What’s your name?”

She gritted her teeth. “I don’t have to tell you that.”

“The writing on my leg, is it yours?” Something in his voice sounded almost panicked.

“How the fuck should I know?” she demanded.

He turned and hit the lights, then pulled up his pants leg. His gun never left the center of her forehead. “Is it yours?”

She blinked in the sudden light and stared at her handwriting on the back of the stranger’s leg. A chill went through her. That was hers. Her mark on his leg. She swallowed and nodded. 

“You- Do you have one?”

She nodded again, her mouth dry. She should shoot him. She’d told Fury she would shoot him. Her gun was still trained on him, but his was on her, too. If she shot him, she wouldn’t survive. And what about the “Hey, neighbor,” person? What would happen to them? Would they ever find out why their scars turned white?

“Where?”

She pointed to her back. The next thing she knew, she was pressed against the wall, her shirt pulled up behind her, his fingers pressing so hard against her ribs that she grunted. He ran two careful fingers over the messy scrawl. She bit her lip and tried not to shudder.

And then he had turned her around, his grip almost superhumanly strong as he pinned her to the wall, and she blinked into the thick lenses of his goggles. 

“Leave now. Run. I’ll tell them I lost you. Make it believable.”

Her grip tightened on her gun. His grip tightened on his.

She thought over her odds.

She ran.

* * *

The building was stifling. Never mind that everyone treated him as a hero, an idol. The windows didn’t open for security reasons, the place was devoid of any personality. He had tolerated it too long, but he didn’t belong here. He wasn’t sure where he belonged, but it wasn’t here.

He made an appointment with Fury, deflected the concerns over security, insisted he wanted to live as a regular guy. A regular apartment, no armed guards. Just regular Steve Rogers, living his regular life.

By the time he left, neither he nor Fury were happy, but at least Steve had made it clear that he was leaving, and Fury’s happiness be damned.

* * *

Sharon didn’t doubt that she was one of the few agents of SHIELD whose soulmarks got her a private meeting with the Director, but she wished she had better news for him. 

“Think you can recognize him if you see him in the files?”

He didn’t seem angry. That was... good. But he was quiet, which worried her. Fury’s brain was always working, obvious in the energy just beneath the surface, the sharpness of his eyes. The way he usually carried himself always suggested that he was ready to dive in half a dozen directions, mental or otherwise, with everything he had. Except for now. Something was wrong.

“I’ll try. His goggles hid most of his features.” 

Fury chuckled, but there was no mirth to it.

“I didn’t fail on purpose, sir,” she snapped. “I know I said I’d shoot him if I saw him, but I didn’t think you’d want to explain a dead SHIELD agent where no SHIELD agent was supposed to be.”

He held up a hand. “I know. And I’m not laughing at how they knew SHIELD was there when there should have been no way for them to tell. I just think it’s funny.”

He wasn’t going to tell her what the joke was, the bastard. Her chin jutted out; her eyes flashed. “What’s funny?”

“That you finally met your soulmate, Carter. And you have no idea who guy is.”

Her glare only made him chuckle harder. “Don’t worry. This is going to change things, but I can work with it. I’ve got a problem, and I think you’d be a good fit. It’ll keep you closer to home in case that agent comes after you - he saw _your_ face, after all - and it’ll help me out.”

He had a point about her safety; the man had moved faster than she could register. And the idea that she might be able to help him out intrigued her. “Sir?”

“Rogers needs a babysitter.”

“ _Sir?_ ”

“Off the books. You report directly to me. We’ll cook up a nice cover story. I don’t want Rogers’ business being SHIELD’s business any more than it has to be. We’ll give you a job at the Triskellion to explain why you’re in town.” He smiled at her. “Relax, Carter. That quiet time across the hall from him will give you plenty of time to look over those files and see if you recognize your lover boy.”

She wanted to slug him.

Apparently, Fury read it on her face; he laughed harder and told her to go pack up her things.

* * *

The building was a four-story walk-up that Steve had been told was nearly as old as he was. He wasn’t sure if the agent who had told him was joking or simply so young that he thought all old things were equally ancient. Fury filled him in on his neighbors - the millennial couple down the hall, the nurse directly across from him, the family of four downstairs with their golden retriever. By the time Steve moved in, he knew them all as well as the United States government did.

But that didn’t mean he could act as if he knew their names or anything else about them. He wasn’t a good liar, either. He hated subterfuge and avoided doing it whenever he could. For the first week, he merely said, “Hey, neighbor,” and then left as quickly as he could before he could ask about something he wasn’t supposed to know.

The nurse across the hall, Kate, looked particularly unimpressed when he greeted her. Her sour expression when she looked at him was the closest to being back home that he’d gotten.

* * *

As expected, the price for failure was high. But his promise to track down the SHIELD agent was sincere. His muscles were still twitching from the shock treatment when they gave him the first file on her.

Sharon Carter. The name tasted familiar; he couldn’t pinpoint why. 

A couple weeks after that, he was told she had been assigned to a project in DC, but his services were needed elsewhere.

Elsewhere in DC, as it turned out. It gave him time, sometimes, to watch the Triskellion through his rifle scope. Over the next couple weeks, he spotted her going to her car. Buying junk food at a corner shop. Training at the gun range. Going to some sort of assisted living facility. That bothered him. Why did it bother him? 

He could only do so much. And it was part rebellious thrill, part desire to feel that warmth again from when he’d spoken to her, that led him to go out of his way to do more.

* * *

_Hey, neighbor._ Of all the lines in all the world, he’d had to feed her that one. When she’d told Fury, along with the news that she hadn’t recognized her soulmate from the SHIELD files, he’d laughed his ass off. 

He didn’t laugh, weeks later, when she walked into his office and told him that she’d gone home to find ingredients for a salad on her bed. He didn’t laugh when a book of recipes for healthy food showed up on her breakfast room table. He certainly didn’t laugh when she found a top-of-the-line FNP-47 Tactical on her pillow.

“Soulmate trying to take care of you without putting up with you.”

She shrugged. “I don’t feel threatened by any of it. I’m not sure he _could_ hurt me. If he could have, he would have.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Can you hurt him?”

Her fists clenched. “I’m not pissing away my life over a steampunk hobo, sir.”

He snorted, though she didn’t think either of them truly believed it. “Maybe we can use it, then. Trap him. Set cameras up in your apartment. Turn them on when you leave. Maybe we can get some clues as to who your mystery lover is.”

“And who he’s working for.”

* * *

He knew the apartment complex. He stood on the rooftop and watched through his sniper rifle. He had orders to kill the man with the eyepatch. The blond one, who felt somehow familiar in a way that made his head hurt, hadn’t been mentioned. Sharon had been assigned to watch the blond, but he couldn’t risk her getting hurt; he’d let the air out of two of her tires while she’d been shopping for more junk food - he knew she didn’t buy the healthy ingredients the book had talked about. She’d likely be figuring out right about now that someone had tried to stop her from getting home. Maybe she’d even realize it had been him. The important thing was that she wouldn’t get here until it was too late. 

The blond man looked at someone sitting two feet away from the window. He slid the rifle across, checked the blond man’s eyeline and range of focus, and fired. 

Later, when he told Pierce he recognized the man from the bridge and a full wipe was ordered, he screamed in anger and frustration. They weren’t going to take anymore of his memories about the blonde man away, he wasn’t going to lose what he’d learned about Sharon. He wasn’t going to lose anything more.

When they finally turned off the electricity, he lied and pretended to know nothing about a woman he might have mentioned, or a blonde man he’d said he recognized. He wasn’t sure that he had all the memories he’d had before the wipe, but what he had left, he wanted to keep.

* * *

Two days later, she trudged to a safe house that only her family knew about. She sat heavily on the couch, her fingers absently picking at the bandage around her forearm. Fury dead. SHIELD gone. Rogers in the hospital. 

What was left for her now?

“Are you all right?”

She started and nearly fell over as she twisted to reach her gun. The gun that was no longer there because the FBI had demanded she turn it over. She was already slipping off the couch before she recognized the voice; somehow, she wasn’t surprised he had found her. He caught her before she hit the ground, his gloved hand covering her hands as if prepared to disarm her, and his eyes went to her hands as he realized they were empty. He saw the bandage on her arm next, and his features darkened.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. He was dirty and bruised, but she recognized his face. She’d grown up seeing it in scrapbooks and textbooks, plastered on walls at the Smithsonian. “Bucky?”

He dropped her hand and went into the bathroom. She stared after him even though he was out of sight, listening as he went through the medicine cabinet and drawers. “Who is Bucky? The other one called me that, too.”

“Bucky Barnes. That’s who you are. Your face- I didn’t see it before, but you’re Bucky Barnes. How did you _survive?_ ”

“They put me in a box. A... cryogenic freezer?” He didn’t seem certain of the name, but his shrug also said he didn’t care about such details. “It was cold,” he said at last. He frowned as he sat beside her and pulled her forearm into his lap. “And I’m not Bucky Barnes. I’m the Winter Soldier.” He unwrapped the bandage, his hands gentle. “Who did this?”

“Medics at the Triskellion. It’s fine.” She ducked her head, trying to look into his eyes. “Can I see my mark again? When did it appear?” How was _Bucky Barnes_ one of her soulmates? How was it possible? Questions buzzed in her head. As little as people understood the soulmarks, the possibility that Bucky Barnes was one of her soulmates still seemed outside the realm of possibility.

He carelessly threw his leg onto her coffee table and tugged his pants leg up, leaving her to pull it up the rest of the way while he unwrapped the bandage. “Reagan was president. I had to kill someone in his Cabinet.” It was said with the same amount of emotion she used to describe budget requests.

Holy shit. Her soulmate was a scary motherfucker.

“Who hurt you?” he demanded. He leaned over to inspect the wound more closely. The stitches weren’t as precise as they could have been - the medics had been overworked, and most cases were more serious than a cut on the arm.

She watched as he put more salve on it. “Brock Rumlow. He’s on- He _was_ on SHIELD’s STRIKE Team. He tried to send up the Insight Carriers. I couldn’t stop him.”

His thumb rubbed circles on her wrist. Something about that one, tiny gesture was alarmingly soothing, almost addictive. “I know Rumlow.”

She knew that tone. “Save a piece for me.”

There was a hint of a smirk, but he made no promises.

“So who beat the crap out of you?”

“The blonde who was in the apartment across from you. Captain America. Steve Rogers.” He looked troubled for a moment, and he looked away. “I couldn’t kill him.”

“Good.” She set her hand on top of his. “I was supposed to protect him. Bang-up job I’ve done so far. Thanks for the flat tires, by the way. I’ll remember that.”

He wrapped a clean bandage around her arm, though his mood seemed to have lightened. “I didn’t want you getting hurt. They can’t know about you.”

“Who? Hydra?” She snorted. “They already do. Especially after today, if Rumlow survived.”

“They can’t know you matter to me.”

She watched him in silence as he finished wrapping her arm. Done, he continued running his finger in a circle along the inside of her wrist. She wasn’t sure if it was for him or for her. “Are you going back to them?”

“I don’t know.” He stared at her wrist. “I can’t stay away from them. I can’t stay away from you, either.”

“With them, is there anything left to go back to?”

“There’s always something left to go back to. And they... I can’t stay away for long.” He furrowed his brow, as if he couldn’t find the words to express himself better. He looked hopeless.

She bit her lip. “I’ll help as best I can. First, we have to get you cleaned up. When’s the last time you ate?”

He admitted he hadn’t eaten since before the Helicarrier; the realization seemed to surprise him, and she wondered what he had been doing since then. Watching her? Following her to the safe house? The thought should have frightened her. True, it unsettled her. She should have noticed him tracking her. But she strongly doubted that he could hurt her, and looking at it like that, it was a bit like having backup. She had gained a whole new appreciation of backup today.

She pushed him toward the shower before going to make him a sandwich. She wasn’t a good cook, but she could handle a sandwich. With extra meat, extra lettuce and extra tomato, because he looked like he needed all the nutrition he could get. 

She found him standing naked on the bathroom rug, staring at the hot water, his mind a thousand miles away. She set the plate on the counter and tried to keep her eyes above his shoulders. “Need a hand?” Unable to help herself, her eyes ran over his body, noting the various scars, the metal arm (that explained the glove he wore, and made her offer of help a rather poor choice of words), the mounds of mottled flesh on his shoulder. On his other shoulder, in script she thought she recognized, “I had him on the ropes.”

He glanced over as if surprised to see her, his muscles tensing for a fight. He recognized her and relaxed. “Just thinking.” He lifted his arm. “I’m not supposed to get it wet. I’ve already gotten it wet. They’re not going to be pleased.”

She moved past him and switched the shower to the tap, turning the nozzle to close the drain. “They can kiss my ass about what will or won’t please them,” she said firmly. “In. I’ll help.” There was no way he was going to be treated like he had been, not if she had anything to say about it. “We’ll look up proper care for that arm later.”

He stepped in, stood for a moment, and awkwardly sat down. Another moment passed, and he turned his face away from her, his shoulders tense. It dawned on her that he still didn’t entirely trust her. No, that wasn’t it. She trusted him implicitly even though he had killed people for Hydra. Even though he had killed Fury - something she’d have to discuss with him later. Implicit trust seemed to be a side effect of the soulmark, and she had to wonder if she would trust him so much if either of them hadn’t spoken that night. No, his tensing was instinctive, learned from having been hurt so many times before. She forced herself not to lose her temper and said, “I’m going to get a cup from the kitchen. Eat your dinner, okay?” She handed it to him carefully, making sure that he could see everything she did and keeping her movements slow and steady. 

When she came back, the plate sat on the floor, empty save for the smallest crumbs. She pulled her shampoo from the hanging basket and knelt behind him, telling him what she was doing and keeping her touch as gentle as she could. 

It started when she bent down to kiss the freshly-cleaned scars on his shoulder. She kept the kiss soft and light, and added another. She didn’t know why she kissed his skin, except that she wanted to do it. The scent of his skin was heady. He turned his face to her, kissing her neck. There was nothing soft about it, and the way they kissed when their lips finally met held no hint of gentleness. They kissed as if they had no one but each other, their movements heavy with heat and desperation, finding comfort in each other when they could find comfort in nothing else. She didn’t complain when he pulled her into the water and held her so tight her ribs ached; she barely noticed. And when he carried her to bed, her wet clothes dampening the sheets, she merely pulled him down with her.

She woke up the next morning, naked and sore, and painfully alone.

* * *

Steve suspected he was being watched. He couldn’t prove anything, but he suspected he knew who it was. It hurt him, that Bucky would watch him from afar but never make contact. Wary of scaring him off, he forced himself not to sprint toward wherever he thought Bucky was hiding. Having Bucky nearby was better than not having Bucky around at all.

His first bud of doubt that it was Bucky watching him came when he was visiting senators in DC. He was at a diner he’d frequented when he’d lived here before, the one that made the kosher hotdogs so much like the ones he’d eaten back in Brooklyn. He had told the workers at the counter that nobody made hotdogs like these anymore, to which they had responded that the recipe hadn’t changed in 125 years. They didn’t think it odd that he seemed older than he looked; they just wanted to get on to making the rest of their orders and didn’t have time to chit-chat with customers.

It reminded him of home. He liked the place, but he was considering reevaluating how much he liked it as soon as Kate slid in across from him. Her scrubs were gone, an office suit in their place, and her hair had been straightened. She looked hardened now, colder. 

“Hey, neighbor.” She had hardly looked like this would be a pleasant visit before, but now, she looked almost disgusted. 

“Tell me everything you know about the Winter Soldier,” she said.

He gaped at her, and she glared back.

“Rogers, I don’t have a lot of time here. I need to know what you know, and fast.”

He stared at her. “Where is it?”

She blinked at him, and her expression slowly went slack as she understood. She glanced around, then unbuttoned a couple buttons on her shirt. He tried not to look at her bra, tried to focus instead on his handwriting on her breast peeking over the fabric. She covered it quickly and eyed him as she buttoned up. 

“I can’t find him,” Steve murmured. “I’ve been looking, but-” He swallowed. He’d finally found his other mark. He’d finally found her, and... and he didn’t trust her. Didn’t trust the way she was dressed. Didn’t trust the way she was so _different_ from what she’d been before.

“I can’t find him either. He’s around, I think. After my gun got confiscated, he left me a new one about a week later. But he won’t make contact unless he wants to.” 

Steve stared at her, flabbergasted that he’d finally found his other soulmate and that she’d been so close for so long without him realizing. He spoke quickly, his voice low. “You knew. About us. You must have known. I said ‘Hey, neighbor’ to you so many times.”

“So did guys who sat beside me in class, guys at the gym, guys at the beach. Basically, anybody who saw the mark or was next to me in some way could say it. Usually they were disgusting assholes who just wanted sex and thought I’d swoon for them as soon as they said the words. I started thinking-” She shrugged.

He stared at her, his brain finally catching up to the conversation at hand. “Wait. You said you know Bucky? He gave you a _gun?_ ”

“He almost killed me when I was on a mission. Spared me because of the mark. Freaked out. I think he’s been trying to protect me from Hydra ever since, but I can’t prove anything without him here to help.” She bit her lip. “You’re sure you haven’t seen him?”

He nodded. “Not for lack of trying.” He startled as she got to her feet. “Where are you- We just met. And- Are you saying that you have _Bucky’s_ mark, too?” As if waking up in another century hadn’t shocked him enough.

Her lips thinned into a line. “The CIA is going to have my ass if they catch me chatting to Captain America. They’re not your biggest fan right now.”

And then she was gone, grabbing a to-go bag on her way out. In her wake was a napkin with the name “Sharon” written in familiar writing, the writing he saw every time he’d put on shoes. Beneath the name was a phone number.

Steve stayed at the diner until the owners finally asked him to leave. Kate wasn’t Kate. She wasn’t a nurse. She was CIA. She was marked to him and to Bucky. What the hell was the world coming to?

* * *

“Still no sign?” Rumlow demanded.

“Surveillance video of him at the Smithsonian Exhibit. We think he’s learning more about Bucky Barnes.”

A vein in Rumlow’s jaw thumped as he looked at the footage on the monitor. “Rogers having any luck?”

“No, sir. Not that we can tell.”

Rumlow crossed his arms, ignoring the pain from the skin grafts. If he fucked them up again, screw it. He was learning to love the ugly scars on his skin, the way people did what he wanted faster because they wanted him to go away. He studied the rest of the meager footage they’d compiled. The Winter Soldier had been taking care of himself. He looked more like Bucky Barnes than before; Rumlow wasn’t fooled. The Soldier was a killing machine. He was _Hydra’s_ killing machine.

“He was shouting something during that last wipe. He found one of his soulmates, right? A woman?”

The drone turned to look at him; Rumlow hadn’t bothered learning his name, only knowing that he would be useful. He needed peons if he was going to fulfill Hydra’s commands.

“Find her. If we can’t find him, we’ll have to bring him to us.” Going after some weak bitch had to be easier than fighting Steve again. Fucking Captain America.

* * *

Steve got to his feet as Sharon entered the room. On the one hand, this was one of his soulmates, on the other hand, this was Peggy’s room. Sure, Peggy was asleep right now, but that didn’t give Sharon the right to come here as if she owned the place.

Sharon sat across the bed from him, answered his angry and disappointed frown with a soft smile, and took Peggy’s hand in hers. “Hi, Aunt Peggy.”

Steve jumped, startled, then looked from Peggy to Sharon and back again. Peggy continued to sleep. He pressed his hand to his temples. “Aunt?”

“You think it’s weird for you?” Sharon asked. “Both my soulmates were born before my grandparents. _And_ one of them was my great-aunt’s soulmate first.” She grinned and stuck out her hand. “Sharon Carter. Nice to meet you. Officially, that is.”

He tentatively shook her hand, finding it warm and comforting in his, then sank into his seat. What the _hell?_ “I don’t understand how the marks work,” he griped. “All this time, I still don’t get it.”

She shrugged. “I’m the wrong person to talk to. I’ve hated the damn things since I understood what they meant.”

He looked at her curiously. Growing up, he’d always wanted to meet his soulmarks. Bucky had been easy enough; they’d met in grade school after Bucky had stepped in to save him from a beating. The way Bucky had made him feel, of _course_ he’d wanted to meet Peggy. And when he had... He couldn’t imagine someone not wanting to feel like that, like they were cared about.

She sighed and explained, “‘Hands up’ isn’t a mark you want going into spywork, and ‘Hey, neighbor’ is something I’ve been hearing since I was a kid. Actually, I’ve gotten my fair share of both. Can you imagine if I’d thought every person who said it to me was my soulmate?” Her lips twisted. “I’d be dead on the ‘Hands up’ front and miserable on the ‘Hey, neighbor’ one. And I was never too thrilled about the possibility that I would never have a choice about who to like, if was an enemy agent or a douche or something.”

“So... You’re not Kate?”

“No. That was... Bucky ran into me on a mission, but I didn’t know who he was. Not really.” Steve nodded. Not even he had recognized Bucky right away. “Fury had concerns about my safety, and he had concerns about your safety, too. But he didn’t think you’d enjoy having known SHIELD agents around, so...” She shrugged. “Not Kate.”

“If you’d said something, we could have-”

She frowned, her hand over Peggy’s. “I wouldn’t have known to say the mark words then, you know. I didn’t know who the Winter Soldier was. I didn’t know his code name until after the Triskellion.”

Steve went quiet, watching Sharon and Peggy, trying to find traces of Peggy in Sharon’s features. They both had brown eyes, he decided, but even those were different. Sharon looked up, and he turned his attention to Peggy.

She grimaced. “I’m not her, Steve. I look up to her, I’ve loved her all my life, but I’m not her.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I just wish- I don’t know.”

“That you’d been able to live with her and Bucky until you all died, preferably in a cozy bed together and at the same time?”

He managed a weak grin. “Blunter than I was going to say, but... yeah.”

Her grin was stronger than his, but after a moment, it softened. “Maybe the marks are more about who we need. You and Peggy don’t need each other as much as you used to, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving each other. Frankly, I’d be upset if you _had_ stopped loving her. I’ve met her, too, you know. Everybody should love her.”

He grinned at her. “Always have, always will.” He hesitated. “It doesn’t bother you? Peggy’s your great-aunt, and-”

She got to her feet. “That isn’t exactly the weirdest part here, you know.” She paused. “For what it’s worth? I’m glad it’s you two. I never knew what to expect with the marks, but I think I could have done worse. I’ve got to go. It’s safer to meet you here, since the CIA knows I come by to visit Aunt Peggy, but if they think I’m staying too long...”

“Want me to tell her you stopped by?”

Sharon shrugged, and a ghost of pain flitted across her face. If Steve hadn’t seen that same expression in the mirror so much, he might have missed it. “You don’t have to. She doesn’t really remember who I am anymore. But when you get the chance, I think somebody knocked something under the bed. Could you get it? I would, but I’m already running late.”

He nodded. He didn’t move for several minutes after she’d left, instead watching Peggy sleep. The doctors had said it was unlikely she would last much longer, and he wanted to enjoy the time they still had left.. 

He stooped to pick up whatever had fallen and came up again with a notebook filled with familiar text - everything Sharon had found on Bucky so far. He felt warmth spread through him as he read page after page. She’d been searching for him, too. On the sly, judging by the looks of things, but they were both searching for him.

“I wish things hadn’t turned out this way, Peg,” he muttered. She stirred but didn’t respond, and he read over the rest of the notes in silence.

* * *

He - _Bucky_ \- continued to check in on them. It was taking him longer than he liked to admit to learn his name. No, to _remember_ his name. And not just his name, but everything that went along with it. Who he was as a person. And as much as he knew they could help, he didn’t want them to see him like this. Somebody who was a shadow of his former self, someone who... wasn’t what they wanted, probably.

He couldn’t stop himself from making sure they were okay, though. Steve was easy enough to find, if harder to protect. And Sharon was being kept close to Langley. Even though she seemed frustrated by the monotony, Bucky was relieved. 

He just had to sort a few more things out, he told himself, and then he’d get in touch with them. Tell them he was ready. For what, he didn’t know, but he didn’t like being away from them. That had to mean something.

* * *

Steve received a text from an unidentified number. “Peggy doesn’t have much longer. Could use some help. Call me?”

He wasted no time in calling her back. “Hey, neighbor.”

She grunted. “Never going to live that down, am I?”

“I don’t know if the line is secure,” he pointed out. “And no, not when it’s written on you in my handwriting.”

She made a sound that sounded vaguely assenting. “Okay, okay. I guess I deserve it for, you know. Not talking to you that whole time. And the line _is_ secure. As secure as I can make it, at least.”

“I wasn’t going to mention you not talking to me, for the record. Just going to let you think it.”

“Ha, ha. Okay, seriously. To the point.”

Steve sobered. “Peggy.”

“Yeah. The doctors told you it’s not going to be much longer, right?”

“Yeah. Couple weeks ago.”

“I’m... putting together her funeral.”

“She has kids for that, doesn’t she? And grandkids.”

Sharon fell silent. “It fell to me. And it’s kind of overwhelming. Especially since most of the security protocols were leaked online with the SHIELD dump, and I’m having to wrangle some people back on board after Hydra’s reveal.” She sounded tired enough that if Steve had been nearby, he’d make her lie down.

“Send me a list of everything you need. I can ask some of the Avengers to help with security. And I’ve got some other friends that I can ask, too.”

“Thanks, Steve.” An hour later, she had texted him a list, everything from strong-arming the minister (Sharon volunteered for that one) to making sure the church Peggy had wanted would remain a viable venue (Steve took that one). 

Over the next several weeks, as they texted back and forth, conversations became less about the funeral and more about what they were doing with their time, from Steve’s training with the Avengers, to Sharon’s filing paperwork at the CIA, and then moved still more to what was going on with their lives. Neither of them had finished unpacking since their most recent moves, and they challenged each other to see how many boxes they could unpack in a weekend. Steve lost the competition when Sharon found out he’d up-ended one of the boxes in his bedroom and had counted that as unpacked. He sent her five anchovy pizzas as a mock-apology. She responded by waiting until he was out of town and then sending fish to his rooms at Ithica. It was an impressive asshole move that Steve himself had previously considered but never followed up on; he almost admired that she was willing to fight so dirty, and that she was willing to match him instead of accepting defeat. 

He wasn’t sure why they had been marked together, but he realized he was glad they had been.

* * *

Sharon had to have the worst soulmates in history. For one, they’d both been born before Velcro (and yes, she was keeping a list of the things they were older than), but they were also- Well. One had worked for Hydra for decades after being brainwashed and tortured, and the other was the man out of time himself, Captain America. Both of them lived lives far more exciting than hers, and they both had serums that could help them survive nuclear winters. She was too much of a realist to ignore her own odds. She knew, realistically, that she would go first. Both Steve and Bucky were too skilled to be beaten easily. On the other hand, they got into fights far more often than she did. What would happen to her if she lost one of them when she’d barely found them? Fury had warned her about the pain.

So really, the news that she was Steve Rogers’ latest soulmate after Aunt Peggy had been icing on the cake.

She tried to talk to Peggy about it, what it had felt like when Steve had gone into the ice, what it had felt like to think Steve had been lost forever, but Peggy wouldn’t talk about such things with someone she thought was a stranger. Her eyes went out of focus more and more, and Sharon’s assurances that she was family either weren’t heard, weren’t remembered, or weren’t believed.

She let herself into her new apartment, spartan save for the unpacking she’d done on the weekends, semi-with Steve, and decided that one of the salads Bucky had left her and a beer would be just the thing.

Something slammed into her, throwing her against her wall with a force that left her stunned. “About time you came home. Nothing personal, Carter, but- No, I lied. It’s personal. I’m gonna like this.”

Rumlow. She knew his voice. She clawed for her gun, and his foot stomped on her wrist. 

“Nuh-uh-uh, Carter. That’s no way to treat a guest.”

She ignored the fiery pain in her wrist and kicked up at him, her shoe hitting- was that metal? 

He gripped her ankle, and she gasped as her bones ground together. She bit down on the sound of pain that threatened to escape. “There’ll be time for foreplay later, Carter.” Something hit her head - she could have sworn he kicked her - and everything went dark.

* * *

She came to with Rumlow sitting over her. He didn’t look much like Rumlow anymore. His skin was mottled, marked by burns. Behind his mask, one of his eyes was misshapen by scars. His body was encased with some sort of metal exoskeleton that appeared to double as armor. She glared at him as her head spun, glared harder when she saw he held a video camera.

“Say hi,” he told her. When she said nothing, he nudged her leg with a foot. “This is going to the Winter Soldier. You’re his bitch. Shouldn’t you want to say hi to him?”

He hadn’t bound her. His mistake. She lashed out with a kick, he countered. She rolled away, he stood and followed her, the camera on her the entire time. She kicked again and narrowly avoided him stepping on her ankle.

Okay, Sharon. Don’t just fight hard, fight smart. The videotape was going to Bucky. She had to make that count for something if she couldn’t break the camera or escape or both. She rolled to her feet and backed away, checking her surroundings, trying to see if there was something she could use. There were Hydra goons along the perimeter, mats on the floor, the chair Rumlow had sat in. Okay. She could work with those.

The first three Hydra guards went down easily. The fourth posed more of a challenge, clocking her in her collar bone before she took him down. Rumlow followed it all, walking slowly behind her. He smirked at the display the whole time. God, how had they not known he was such a fucking creep when he’d worked at SHIELD?

She ran for the chair, grabbed it, and waited.

“What are you going to do, Carter? Take us all on?” He chuckled as he moved in closer. “I don’t think so. We’ve got a machine with your name on it.”

When he was in range, she swung the chair, aiming at the camera. Screw the plan. Screw hoping Bucky would recognize her. They weren’t going to use her to lure Bucky into a trap if she could help it, damn it all to hell. Even if his scar turned white, she wasn’t going to allow him to be tortured because of her. He had a soulmate left; Steve could help him. But he wasn’t going to become Hydra’s plaything because of Sharon. Even if she died, at least she’d die knowing she hadn’t cost him his freedom.

The camera flew to the floor, and she glared victoriously at Rumlow as his features slowly turned into a snarl. He flew at her with a speed she didn’t remember him having, and she moved into a defensive position too slowly. He tackled her to the floor. Metal dug into her flesh, but it didn’t hurt as much as the punch to her cheekbone. He lifted off of her, calling her names as he kneed her in the gut; she was too dizzy to make out most of the words. She heard something crunch, though, heard someone’s pained and gurgled scream. She would only realize later that it was her.


	2. Chapter 2

The lights in Sharon’s apartment were off. It wasn’t unusual at this time of night; she kept something of a regular schedule these days. He was fairly certain she hated it, but he was glad she kept it nonetheless. It made keeping an eye on her much easier. And if he could keep an eye on her, he could keep her safe.

He carried the grocery bag silently over to the fridge, unloading the cartons of fruits and vegetables he’d picked up. She never ate well enough, the idiot. He had always thought that agents took better care of themselves, but evidently SHIELD had never offered a course on nutrition. 

He froze with his hand holding a head of lettuce. Her milk was expired by four days. He’d never seen expired milk in her fridge. Food-wise, throwing out milk that had gone bad was probably one of the few healthy-minded things she did. He set the lettuce aside and opened a couple of the take-out boxes; they had an oily, sickening smell. And as quiet as she was, the apartment was unnaturally still. Bucky couldn’t sense any signs of life inside.

He tried to tell himself that she had probably been sent on a last-second assignment. The hope rang empty; even if she’d been sent on a mission, she would have stopped by her place to pack and arrange things with the nursing home. She would have thrown away the food so it didn’t spoil and make her place reek.

No, something was wrong.

Without wasting another moment, he quickly searched her apartment. In the bedroom, he found a thumb drive on her pillow.

* * *

Finding his soulmates had changed little in Steve’s life. He still led and trained the Avengers in Ithaca, just as he had before. Still took most of his meals with Sam and Natasha, just as he had before. He was still searching for Bucky, still sketched when he had the time. Just as he had before. Sure, images of Sharon and Bucky had increased, but other than that, not much had changed. 

It was while he was working late at night on one troublesome portrait in particular that Bucky climbed through his window and launched himself at Steve.

It didn’t surprise Steve that Bucky knew which room was his, nor that Bucky had bypassed the multitude of security features. What surprised him was that Bucky looked wild, talking fast with a sprinkling of Russian and German curses, his eyes wide as he tried to shove a thumb drive at Steve. Someone had gotten her, Hydra had hurt her. Steve didn’t know whom he meant, but he could guess. A sick feeling rose in the pit of his stomach.

Steve stilled him by covering Bucky’s hand with his own. “Buck. _Buck._ Slow down. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

Bucky took a deep breath, then another. “Rumlow got Sharon. He got her, and I can’t get her back.”

* * *

Bucky forced himself to remain still as Steve’s people sorted through the video footage. He couldn’t help but shift his weight from one foot to the other as he waited. So far, they had determined the location, but nothing more. Bucky glared at them with undisguised enmity. He’d already told them the location - Rumlow had wanted him to know, after all. How was Bucky supposed to be lured into a trap if he didn’t know where to go? What Bucky needed was backup to get Sharon out of there. He needed to know what resources Rumlow had in place, what traps he might have set. He needed someone he could trust to go in and help him get Sharon out in case something happened to him. What he didn’t need was to be slowed down, and these people were slowing him down.

Steve set a heavy hand on Bucky’s arm and steered him out of the room. “You’re making them nervous,” he said softly.

Bucky ignored the faint tone of disappointment. He remembered the gentle way Steve chastised people sometimes. He was in no mood for it. “They _should_ be nervous. They don’t know Sharon. They’re not-” He pressed his lips together. “They don’t care.”

“They care.”

“No, they don’t. They don’t know her. They can’t care.”

Steve looked at him levelly as he opened the door to his room. “They care because I care, Buck.” His lips quirked. “And they care because they might be a little afraid of you.”

“Good.” He remembered people doing things because they were afraid of him. Fear was an effective tool. “If I scare them more, maybe they’ll work faster.” He tried to turn back to the room.

Steve steered him toward the bed instead. “Yeah, great. Terrify my coworkers. Thanks. But take a nap first. I’ve got friends looking into the video. Other people are looking at satellite footage and heat signatures. We’ll know everything they could possibly throw at us within a couple hours. Rumlow won’t know what hit him. So get some sleep, will you?”

Bucky forced a nod as he sat stiffly on the bed, but as Steve turned to leave, Bucky caught his hand. He kept his eyes low as he gave Steve’s hand a gentle tug. After what had happened to Sharon, he didn’t want Steve out of his sight. He cared about few people; he couldn’t let something happen to Steve.

Steve sat beside him. “I’m here as long as you need me, Buck.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure if it was a testament to their history or to their marks that he didn’t need to say anything for Steve to understand. A harder tug to pull Steve closer was all it took. Their lips crushed into one another’s, and some distant memory said the grunt in Steve’s throat was a good sign. Bucky pressed harder.

Just like with Sharon, it was all-consuming, yet Bucky was all too aware that something was missing. But for here and now, he was content to give all he could, to take all he could, and Steve didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in holding back. There was a push-and-pull that was familiar and strange, breath-taking and bruising.

There was a knock at the door almost an hour later, and Bucky sat up, unsated but unwilling to stay.

Steve pulled on his clothes again. Like Bucky, he hadn’t been sated, either. But they had their priorities. Steve had always been good at priorities. “You up to this?”

Bucky raised his eyes to him. “You know me, Steve. I’m up for anything.”

* * *

Whatever concerns Steve had that Bucky might not work well with the Avengers or vice versa were quickly laid to rest. Bucky melted into the team as if he had been groomed for it, and Steve had to wonder if that was Bucky through and through, or, worrisomely, if it was Hydra’s training that made him so adaptable.

Either way, Steve stayed close to Bucky. He understood why Bucky had come to him instead of going after Sharon alone - Bucky needed someone to have his back and make sure he and Sharon were safe. He was worried that Rumlow would overwhelm him somehow and recapture him for Hydra, maybe use Sharon to keep Bucky on a tight leash, maybe brainwash both Bucky and Sharon into doing Hydra’s bidding.

Steve would never allow that to happen. No one was going to hurt either of them if Steve had any say about it. He left nothing to chance; every available Avenger had been called in. Maybe Steve was playing favorites, but he hadn’t heard anyone complain. They all seemed to understand.

And Steve _was_ playing favorites. For them, he would _always_ play favorites.

“I remember Hydra being tougher than this,” Bucky murmured as they broke into the central building. According to Bucky, there were floors underneath that served as Hydra “training” facilities. The emotionless way he talked about them, when Steve and the other Avengers had seen such bases before and knew some of what the training entailed, had chilled Steve to the bone. 

“Most Hydra goons aren’t that tough,” Steve told him, remembering all too well that the Winter Soldier had been one of Hydra’s most formidable weapons. The average Hydra goon couldn’t have bench-pressed a hundred pounds. “Hell, I could have taken some on before the serum.” They both knew it was a lie, but with the way these guys were folding, he had to wonder if there might be some truth to it. If these were the best henchmen Hydra could muster...

“This way.” Bucky slid down a hall, and Steve reported the movement on the comm as he followed. It was possible that there might be too much interfence down below to get a signal, and he needed Sam to know where they were going in case something went wrong.

Between the two of them, getting to Sharon was almost easy. None of the guards were enhanced, and any that had looked at Bucky as if about to use a trigger word were either shot by Bucky or hit with Steve’s shield before they could utter a syllable. The two of them worked just as well together as they had during the war, and Steve had to push aside the happiness in his chest at the thought. And yet, as routine as it felt, a sense of unease slid under Steve’s skin. Rescuing Sharon seemed to be taking too long, and yet there seemed to be nothing that could stop them. Where was Rumlow?

They finally found Sharon deep in one of the sub-basements, unconscious and strapped to a chair like the one Bucky from Bucky’s programming. Steve reached out to stop Bucky before Bucky could charge into the room. Glancing at him in irritation, Bucky read Steve’s face and understood. He forced himself to look for traps and recording equipment.

“Cover me,” Steve murmured. He got to the chair undeterred, untied Sharon’s wrists and ankles without trouble. He quickly checked her vitals, then picked her up, cradling her carefully in his arms. She didn’t stir, and Steve felt a surge of fear and anger as he moved his shield to block her from possible enemy fire. He looked around before his gaze fell on Bucky again. “This is too easy.”

Bucky pursed his lips in agreement, his eyes going to Steve’s shield. “She’s alive, though.”

His statement left no room for argument, but Steve could still hear the breathlessness in his voice, the barely disguised panic underneath the words. “Yeah. Not in great shape, but alive.”

Bucky nodded and raised his gun. “Let’s get her to a hospital first. Then we’ll figure out what’s going on.” He took the lead, and if Steve had thought the Soldier was cold before, it was nothing compared to how he was now. Bucky gunned down Hydra agent after Hydra agent, his eyes remote and calculating like a machine’s. The only sign that it was still Bucky happened when he checked Steve’s six, his eyes glancing at the shield before moving to potential targets again.

They had only just reached outside when the first wave of explosions hit.

* * *

Bucky looked up from the security feeds. “You shouldn’t be up yet,” he snapped. The security room at Ithaca was small, but still larger than most of the security rooms he had infiltrated in the past. Tony had sprung for a wall of television screens with state-of-the art equipment, but at the moment, Sharon ignored them in favor of reaching the empty rolling chair. He quickly pushed it toward her.

She dropped into it and set the crutches aside. She looked queasy, pasty, and the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead cooled in the air-conditioning and made her shudder. “I couldn’t lie in bed any longer. I needed something to do.”

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he sank back into his chair. She hadn’t snapped at him for helping her or insisted on getting the chair herself; she must be feeling bad. In the weeks after she’d been released from the hospital, she’d told off anyone who’d tried to help her, doctor’s orders to take it easy be damned. The worst part had been when the doctor suggested she stay with someone while she recovered; she’d need assistance to do everything from making her food to changing her clothes. It had been the first fight he, Sharon, and Steve had ever had.

Bucky wouldn’t tell them, but he liked that they were both so stubborn. Even down and out, they had fight to them. It had taken time, but her stubbornness had finally lost out to reason, and she had moved to Ithaca temporarily so he and Steve could help look after her. She had her own room, just like Bucky did, but like Bucky, she’d taken to spending her nights in Steve’s room. Bucky suspected she’d gotten tired of his frequent check-ups on her throughout the night, but he wouldn’t apologize for it. He’d taken his eyes off of her before, and look how that had turned out.

He’d probably have to work on giving her room. Eventually. Maybe.

“If you’re going to stay, you’re going to take it easy,” he said firmly.

She grumbled but didn’t take it as a challenge. Good. “What are we looking at now?”

“Footage from the bombing in Philadelphia. Trying to identify who set the bombs.” After the bombing at the Hydra base, there had been a bombing every week for the past two months. Rumlow had sent a message to the 24-hour news channels announcing that the bombings would continue until the Soldier returned to Hydra. Evidently, Rumlow had decided that if Bucky had the Avengers backing him up, a mere trap wouldn’t work and had tried a different tactic - torture. Either Steve and Sharon would be driven away by Bucky’s not returning to Hydra and thus allowing Hydra to continue to kill people, or Bucky would suffer under the weight of innocent people who were killed so long as he was free. There was also the fact that Bucky now had two distinct weaknesses, and he couldn’t protect them both all the time, as Sharon’s leg brace attested.

Except Bucky knew a thing or two about surviving torture, and he knew he would have to kill innocents directly if he returned to Hydra, likely without any understanding of what he was doing, and, worse, no memory of Steve or Sharon. At least this way, he could try and find a way to stop them once and for all.

And it didn’t hurt that Steve and Sharon had insisted that he stay with them. Maybe his constant check-ins hadn’t driven Sharon out of her room; maybe she’d been concerned he might return to Hydra.

“Trying to identify the network. Smart. Natasha and I have been putting out feelers, too.” She pulled a keyboard closer and took control of one of the monitor banks. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Without looking, he reached and took her hand. Her fingers slipped easily into his. “This helps.” He hadn’t said so out loud yet, but it meant something to him that Steve and Sharon had accepted him, that they were sharing a space with him. Keeping their clothes next to his. Chattering through most of the night debating government policy and ethics until Bucky ordered them both to shut up and go to sleep. It mattered that he knew they cared about him, that they hadn’t left. That they trusted him. That they were _there_.

“Good.”

They watched the monitors in silence for several minutes. “You okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. Peggy’s death had hit Sharon hard, all the harder because she hadn’t been with Peggy when it had happened. She’d been in and out of consciousness at the time, mostly out, and Steve had gone to sit with Peggy while Bucky stood guard over Sharon. 

“Is that why you don’t like him?” His voice startled even himself. Silence was easy when they were doing nothing but staring at screens.

She paused her monitors. “I don’t like him because he tortured us both and is now trying to fuck you over.”

He blinked at her. Apparently, the soulmarks didn’t translate into telepathy. “I meant Steve.”

She turned to him and frowned. “I like Steve.”

“You don’t touch him, though,” Bucky pointed out. “When we’re all together, you two keep me in the middle.” Which wasn’t all bad. Late at night, when the nightmares woke him, the middle was a good place for him to be. Earlier in the night, when the two were squabbling about whatever political minutiae they found fascinating and asking Bucky to smack the other for some stupid metaphor or whatever, being in the middle was a pain in his ass.

For a moment, she looked sad, and Bucky gave her hand a squeeze. “If it’s because he was with Peggy while you weren’t-”

“That’s not- I like him, Bucky. It’s just that we can’t do that.”

“You wouldn’t even sit with him at Peggy’s funeral. Sam had to wheel you in on the other side of the church.” Bucky, after seeing the guest list, had insisted on working the security detail outside with the Avengers. He had helped shape the world, he remembered; he didn’t want to be any closer than necessary to the world leaders he’d helped put in powerful positions. Instead, he’d watched the proceedings from across the street like a hawk, though he hadn’t told Barton about any bird references that might have occurred to him. He’d learned not to talk about bird references around Barton or Sam. They both started making stupid puns that they thought were hilarious.

“Explain me and Steve to Peggy’s kids next time you see them, why don’t you.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for several minutes as they focused on the footage. Silence with Steve or Sharon didn’t bother him the way it did with other people, where he knew they saw him as the Winter Soldier first and Bucky a distant second. They watched him with caution and spoke to him with care, as if afraid that he might snap and break their necks otherwise. It was kind of nice when he wanted something, but it wasn’t comfortable.

“I just see you looking at him sometimes,” Bucky tried again. “He looks at you the same way when he thinks you’re not looking.”

She switched out the footage without glancing at him. “That’s nice,” she said in a polite but disinterested tone that suggested she wasn’t paying attention and didn’t care. 

Bucky sighed in frustration. What the hell more did he have to do? “I want you to like each other like we like each other,” he said at last.

“It’s not that simple, Buck.”

He wanted to tell her to _make_ it that simple. He’d waited for months for them to get over... whatever it was. But he’d been controlled for too long to try to make them do something they didn’t want to do.

Her hand rested on top of his, and he took another breath to calm down. It had to change eventually, he told himself. It had to.

* * *

No sooner was she finally cleared for field duty did she get called into a meeting at Langley. Bucky said he’d go with her, and she sighed in irritation at how overprotective he’d become. Despite sharing a bed with him, she’d woken up twice to find him staring at her and Steve as if to make sure they hadn’t disappeared. “You’re going to have to let go, you know,” she told him as he got into the car. He carried a small gym bag; she doubted he’d brought lunch. 

His expression turned stony. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered. He glared out the window the rest of the trip. 

About an hour away, she broke the silence. “You know you can’t come into Langley with me.”

“You can drop me off at the gas station two miles away.”

His tone brooked no argument, and instead, she mimicked him under her breath. Freaking overprotective soulmates.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she muttered.

There was a hint of a smirk, and then it was gone. He didn’t speak as she let him out at the gas station, merely looked at her before turning to survey the terrain.

“I am more than capable of looking out for myself,” she snapped.

“I’ll believe that when you can pin me or Steve to the mats,” he muttered.

Her cheeks reddened at the mention of pinning Steve. She had taken to sparring with Bucky and Natasha, but she and Steve- Well. They didn’t do that. As comfortable as she was with Steve, she had no idea if she was genuinely comfortable with him or if it was the soulmark making her feel that way. She felt awkward whenever she got close to him, physically or emotionally, as if to do either was a slap in Peggy’s face. Talking with him was fine. If she could just always talk with him and have him nearby without ever wanting anything more, her life would be as close to perfect as it could be. But that wasn’t how her life was.

“What was that?” she demanded.

“Nothing.” He used the same tone she’d used before. Apparently, the universe had paired her with a couple assholes. Just her luck.

She hmphed and pulled onto the road again, hoping that Bucky would avoid security when he snuck close enough to keep an eye on her at Langley. They both knew he would try, and Sharon was held up at security checkpoints long enough that she knew he had time to make himself comfortable.

She had to wait another forty minutes before she was allowed inside director’s office. “Carter,” Miller greeted her. “Take a seat. How’s the leg?”

“Better, sir. Thank you.”

“Sorry to hear about your aunt’s passing. Formidable lady.”

Sharon inclined her head and wished he’d get to the point. Yes, Peggy had been formidable, but she hadn’t been called into a meeting to talk about Peggy.

Miller nodded his head and dropped the pleasantries. “I’ll be blunt. You’re soulmarked to an Avenger, and we need a liaison with the Avengers.”

Her eyes narrowed. If Steve and Bucky had set this up to keep an eye on her, she’d beat the crap out of them. “I have skills that need to be utilized in the field, sir. They wouldn’t be used with the Avengers. I would recommend sending someone else. It would also erase any doubt you may have that I may be more loyal to my soulmark than to the Agency.”

He pursed his lips. So the thought had occurred to him, as well. “You’re the only one we can get in,” he admitted. “Stark might have left the team, but he’s still a player behind the scenes, and he’s shut down multiple agencies on this. But even he couldn’t bar you from being at the base, given your status. We’re working on another plan to gain access to the Avengers, but in the meantime, we need you to do this.”

Sharon bowed her head to hide her grin. So her soulmates hadn’t set this up to keep her out of harm’s way. Good.

“He’ll suspect you’re feeding us intel, of course.”

“Of course.” She paused. “Which is why it might help to give the Avengers some intel first. Establish a relationship with them.”

Miller stilled. He knew it was bullshit just as much as she did. If the Avengers really wanted intel, they’d find a way to get it on their own. But having someone on the inside of the Avengers, at Captain America’s right hand, no less, was important enough that Sharon knew she had the leverage to ask. Tony and FRIDAY wouldn’t always be around to hack into files, and other ways could take too much time. They might as well start establishing a relationship now. “What did you have in mind?”

“Brock Rumlow is working for someone. It’s in the best interest of the Avengers, the CIA, and the all other agencies to find out who.”

Miller barely breathed. “We’re aware that your... _other_ soulmark was... compromised. If that’s the right word?”

She shrugged. “As good as any. But Rumlow works for Hydra. We find the boss, we cut off another head.”

He sat quietly for several seconds longer. Sharon waited him out. “I’ll have some people look into it. With Hydra involved, it will have to be quiet.”

“Natasha and I will share what we’ve found so far.”

“Natasha Romanoff?”

She looked at him oddly. There wasn’t another Natasha on the team. Of course it was Natasha Romanoff. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ve met her,” he said, sounding almost fond and more than a little awed. “Took out some guys who’d been sent to assassinate a diplomat. It was-” He cut himself off before he could say something potentially inappropriate, cleared his throat, and handed her a scribbled piece of paper. His voice turned stern again. “Report there. They’ll tell you what you need to do next.”

By the time Sharon reached the gas station, Bucky was already waiting out front. She stopped and leaned over as he opened the door. “I shouldn’t let you in here, Mr. Traipse-Through-The-Woods-To-The-CIA’s-House.”

He closed the door and looked at her, affronted. “I don’t traipse.”

She snorted and pulled out. “Did you read his lips?”

“No. I wasn’t _that_ close. And I thought it best not to aim a gun scope at the CIA building just in case.”

“Smart.” She shrugged. “I’m the official CIA liaison to the Avengers.”

He nodded. “Figured. Still. This calls for an extra sparring session.”

She glanced at him quickly as she realized he didn’t mean on the mats. He smirked at her. “I could do that.”

“And maybe Steve can join in this time.”

She frowned. “Maybe I’ll skip the sparring session and check out a restaurant somewhere. On my own.”

Bucky whistled. “Cold.”

* * *

Steve forced himself to keep up the facade until he was alone in his room. And then his shoulders fell, and he pressed his forehead againt the door and closed his eyes with a quiet curse.

“Steve?” At the sound of Sharon’s voice behind him, he took a shuddering breath. “You okay?”

He turned and leaned against the door. “No.” He watched her as she moved toward him and dutifully stopped a couple feet away. She was always careful about how close she got to him, just as he was careful about how close he got to her. He understood why - they both wanted to respect Peggy. But Steve had already loved Peggy and Bucky both; he didn’t see why he couldn’t love Sharon, too. He wasn’t going to push her into something she didn’t want, though, and as such, he kept his distance. Nonetheless, he rather wished that Sharon would finally get closer; after the day he’d had, he needed it. “Wanda lost control. She got to some of us before Vision could intervene. She’s fine, now. We’re fine. Just... shaken.”

Her hand jerked, and he thought for a moment that she might try to put her hand on his arm. He lifted his arm to accept her touch, then pressed it back against the door when he realized she’d dropped hers already. “Want me to call Bucky?”

“Sure.” He studied her as she grabbed her cell phone from the desk. She must have sparred with someone while he was with the team; she was freshly showered, and there was a bruise forming on her upper arm. Bucky would probably fuss over it and then pretend he wasn’t upset when she got upset at him for being overprotective. Steve sighed. Bucky was allowed to fuss over her and touch her; he wasn’t.

She turned back to him, and he quickly moved his eyes back up to her face. “He’s at the VA with Sam; they’re on their way now.”

Was it his imagination, or did her eyes linger on him? He could never really tell. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, though. Often, the two of them would get along fine, and then one or the other would think they had gone too far and would back off. Back off too far sometimes, in Steve’s opinion.

He took a breath, held up a finger, and pointed to each of them. “What is this?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

He pursed his lips; he respected her abilities too much to believe her ignorance was genuine. “This. You and me. It feels like we’ve been dancing around each other for over a year. Actually, it feels longer, but it’s been a year since we found out we were marked.”

She lowered her gaze to the floor. So he’d been right to think she’d been faking. “I know how much Peggy meant to you, Steve, and I know that it’s awkward that I’m related to her. I don’t want to push you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

He stared at her in disbelief, a laugh struggling to free itself from his chest. At her glare, he shook his head and covered his face with a hand. “Wanda’s vision... I saw Peggy. Again.” Her shoulders tensed, but he kept talking. “She was yelling at me for being marked with you. For- for being close to you.” They had never said the L-word, never come close. He wasn’t sure he could use it. But no. Wasn’t that what had upset him about what she was doing? Always pulling back instead of pushing forward? “For loving you.” His voice was firm, and he met her surprised eyes squarely. “The things she said... I know it was me saying them to myself, but it made me realize. That wasn’t Peggy. She would never think that we were betraying her or sullying her memory. We each know how amazing she was, probably better than most.” He took a breath. “I thought I’d been holding myself back because of her, but it was really me holding myself back.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Does that make sense?”

They watched each other as the seconds ticked by. She nibbled her bottom lip. Realizing he was waiting for an answer to his question or for something more, she shrugged. 

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets, realized he didn’t have any pockets in his uniform, and crossed his arms instead. He glanced around the room. She still hadn’t spoken. “Do you want this?” he asked at last. “If you don’t, just say the word, and I’ll drop it.”

“Do you want this?” she asked, her voice quiet.

His gaze focused on her. She looked more vulnerable than she had since lying unconscious in a hospital bed. “I feel better when I’m with you. If that’s all I can have with you, I’ll accept it.”

Silence descended again. He fought the urge not to fidget and failed. 

She clenched her fists; after so little movement in the room, the gesture seemed violent. “I’m not her.” Her voice trembled. “I can never be what she was to you, Steve. I can’t be. I won’t try. She was her, and I’m me.”

He stepped toward her, staring. “You thought I-” He shook his head. “It never occurred to me that you were her. Or that you should be more like her. You were just... you. My neighbor who was almost constantly in a bad mood, my guy on the inside. Gal. Woman. Whatever. And now you’re...” He took a step back and nearly fell when he found he was closer to the door than he’d realized. God, he was messing this up. “You’re you. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

She leaned back against the desk, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge. She bit her lip. “Even though Peggy was my...”

“You’re not her, Sharon.” He sighed. “I told you. I like being with you. I feel... better when I’m with you. Happier. I... like to think you feel better when you’re with me.” He risked peeking at her in time to see a hesitant nod of confirmation.

Silence fell again, and he drew a deep breath. 

She spoke before he could. “What if I kiss like she did?” Sharon murmured. “Or do- I don’t know. _Anything_ the way she did? What if we’re together, making out or having sex, and you- I don’t know. Realize I do something like she did.”

He blinked at her. That had never occurred to him, either. He opened his mouth to protest that he was certain that wasn’t the case, then closed it. He opened it again, hoping he had something else to say only to realize he didn’t, and closed it again. He cleared his throat. “We could try a kiss? Find out?” He stepped closer, his feet slow, cautious. “If it’s weird, we don’t have to do it again.”

She swallowed and managed another nod. She looked almost scared, and Steve felt a pang as he wondered if she’d looked like this when Bucky had first kissed her. But no, he realized. She was insecure. Sharon Carter, SHIELD and CIA agent extraordinaire, was feeling insecure. He hadn’t thought it was possible.

He could relate. He moved in a little more, ducking his head so he didn’t feel like he was towering over her. “May I?”

Yet another nod, and he pressed his lips gently to hers. He could smell her lip balm, sweet and citrusy. Her lips parted, and no, he hadn’t imagined that, and then he could taste her lip balm, too. He deepened the kiss, matching her as best he could. He felt her tongue against his lips as she gained confidence, and he couldn’t stop the pleased but yearning sound that escaped him.

In seconds, he had her pressed against the wall, his body flush against hers. It felt right to kiss her after so long, to trail his hands down her sides, to stroke her cheek with his thumb, to have her fingers digging into his hair and her arms tight around his neck. It felt right to press his body against hers, to have her leg wrapped around him, to hear her ragged breath in his ear when he ducked to kiss her neck. It all felt deliriously, exhileratingly right. 

He tentatively touched his mark through her shirt, and then, emboldened by her little gasp and the heady way she looked at him, pressed his lips to the fabric. “Hey, neighbor,” he murmured.

She snorted, and they both froze as the door opened. Steve didn’t have time to jump back before Bucky plowed in. He stared at them both, and Sharon and Steve stared back before glancing at each other. Sharon’s hair was in disarray, her lips swollen. She was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her.

Seeing that they weren’t in danger, Bucky relaxed and closed the door. “Don’t tell me I’m late for your first time.”

Steve studied Sharon and beamed at her nod. “Uh, no. We were just... getting to know each other?”

Bucky snorted, then paused. “I can go?” he offered awkwardly. “If you two want privacy. To get to know each other.”

Sharon wrapped her arms around Steve’s neck; the gesture lacked the ferocity it had held moments before. As much as he enjoyed that she felt more comfortable with him, he missed the near-desperation she’d touched him with before. “Tell me everything you know about the Winter Soldier.” Her tone was almost shy despite the teasing, and Steve doubted that she had ever shown anyone but the two of them that softness.

He grinned down at her, giving her a long and hard kiss before turning to look at Bucky. He was gratified to see Sharon’s face follow him as he turned away as if wanting to continue the kiss. “I know he has terrible timing.”

Bucky made a face. “Sharon said you weren’t feeling well. If I’d known she was going to cheer you up herself, I would have taken my time.”

“Oh my God,” Sharon muttered. “Bucky. Remember how I’ve got a gun? Because you’re asking me to shoot you right now.”

He grinned at her. “If you want to shoot me, I might let you.”

She buried her face in Steve’s shirt, and he wrapped his arms around her, reveling in the touch. “He’s just teasing.”

Bucky snorted again, then sobered. “So... You never said. Do you want me in or out?”

Steve drew circles on Sharon’s back with his thumb and met Bucky’s eyes. He’d shrug to indicate that it was up to Sharon, but he didn’t want to tip her off that he was doing so.

After several seconds, Sharon lifted her head. “Stay,” she said decisively. Her hand moved to the back of Steve’s neck. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his again, and he met them hungrily.

He felt Bucky wrap his arms around him from behind, felt Bucky’s kiss against his neck. He moaned and tightened his hold on Sharon as her kisses traced a line to his neck with lips and a hint of teeth. Bucky’s right arm rose to hug the both of them, and her hand slid into his as if it had been made to do so.

And for the first time since he’d come out of the ice, he felt like he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very tempted to write a 3rd chapter and post it independently so it can be rated E. We'll see. 
> 
> If there's anything I can do to improve the work, please let me know! I had no idea this fic would get the traction it did, so I want to make sure it's good enough for you guys!
> 
> Edit - There was some interest, so here's the sequel/chapter 3: [I Want to Taste Love and Pain.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6311920)


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